


I Cannot Put My Finger on It Now

by GLuisa88



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GLuisa88/pseuds/GLuisa88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Anyone can claim to know the future. You just gotta make shit up. What can you tell me about my past? Tell me something about me that you shouldn’t know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Cannot Put My Finger on It Now

The wind blows hot and dusty. Makes your eyes burn and your teeth crunch with the sand between them, your fingers thick with sweat.

  
Two boys with matching holes in their jeans and their hands and tongues matching shades of cotton candy pink and blue.

  
Clowns wander around with sun bleached costumes and sweat smeared makeup.

  
“Step on up and win a Kewpie doll for your boyfriend!” The man with the cigarette stained teeth calls out to the older one, the one named Seth, as they pass.

  
Seth bumps his shoulder into the boy named Richie, makes a kissy face at him and laughs when his brother shoves him away, “We aren’t faggots, Seth. Stop making people think we are.”

“Aw, you don’ wanna hold my hand?”

  
Richie’s face is damp with heat and he pushes his glasses up his nose. Leaves Seth coughing his dust as he tramps ahead.

  
…

  
The sun has dulled the colors on the paintings that no one wants to buy. The woman with the ring in her nose and the paint tipped fingers, Madame Anastasia, as the sign above her head announces- calls out toneless invitations to those who pass her tent.

  
A few hover around, wait to see what she will do.

  
“So basically, she’s Miss Cleo with paints,” Richie says, “You really wanna see this more than the trapeze artists? Or the man who eats fire?”

  
“Not doin’ fire, man.” Seth’s voice is cool but his hands shake. “And I sure as hell ain’t watching grown ass men flyin’ around in tights.”

  
Richie takes a step back, looks down at Seth in the condescending way a forest fire sometimes looks at a bucket of water, “It takes a great deal of strength and skill, Seth. They’ve got reflexes like a  _cat_.”

  
“Their costumes are so tight, you can see veins.”

  
“There are half-dressed women too, if that’s what you’re complaining about-”

  
Seth sighs and places his palm on his brother’s chest, “I hate to have to do this, man.”

  
“Do what?”

  
“Pull the big brother card on you.”

  
Richie’s voice squeaks. He’s seventeen but puberty had hit him hard and late, “No, man. Don’t do that.”

  
“I’m the big brother, dude. I say no to flying men in tights. We’re gonna get our palms read and it’s gonna be awesome.” He pats Richie’s chest twice, making it final.

  
…

  
The canvases look as though they were painted with blood, deep rusty colors, faces with open mouthed screams, and chalky, crumbling bones.

  
“You don’t sell many paintings,” Richie remarks to the women though his eyes are on Seth. As if hopeful to expose to his brother her failures.

  
“I paint what I see,” She watches the brothers between heavy, slivered eyes. “It’s not always pretty. People want to nail pretty empty paintings to their walls but I only paint the truth.”

  
“Look more like nightmares,” Richie mutters.

  
“Why paint it?” Seth asks, “Why not just tell people their future?”

  
Her fingers tug at her coarse, yarn-like hair, “I see pictures, I do not see words.”

  
Seth sits down in front of her, pulls Richie down next to him. “What about me?” Looks over at his brother, “Or him?”

  
She slaps her hands on the table, palms up, “Money upfront. No refunds if you don’t like what I tell you.”

  
…

With her left, she takes Seth’s hand. Stares into his eyes until he begins to squirm.

  
He tries to look away but she grabs his face, “Look at me,” She snaps.

  
“Wow, you’re makin’ me hot all over,” he jokes through closed teeth, glances over at Richie who’s watching, his mouth open slightly.

  
“At me.” She squeezes his face with her thumb, snapping his eyes back to hers.

  
With her left hand back in Seth’s, she paints with her right. Broad swipes across the canvas next to her, her entire arm shakes and jerks as if she has no control over it.

  
She never takes her eyes from Seth’s, humming tonelessly under her breath, a tune that sounds familiar but which neither boy can name.

  
…

  
The paint strokes bleed into each other, filling out and taking shape.

  
Seth wonders what she sees when she looks into his eyes, wonders if she can hear his thoughts, read his mind. He tries picturing her in black fishnet stockings, breasts pushed up by a bra that’s at least a size or two too small. He watches her eyes to see if she can tell.

  
….

  
“So, you think Uncle Eddy’ll let us frame this and hang it in the living room?” Seth laughs, looking at the painting of himself in a giant gilded bird cage, naked save for the flame tattoos that covered his upper torso. He folds the canvas into quarters and stuffs it in his back pocket.

  
“So what does it mean?” Richie asks.

  
She shrugs, “Your brother’s a jailbird.” She rubs her nose with the back of her hand.

  
"Anyone can claim to know the future. You just gotta make shit up.” Richie scoffs, “But what can you tell us about our past? Tell me something about me that you shouldn’t know.”

  
Her thin lips stretch into an uneven smile. She grabs his hand, rubs her thumb across his heart line.

His body shudders and his eyes flutter. She picks up a brush and starts to paint. The scene she paints is disjointed and incoherent: a smoking cigarette and hair consumed by fire, eyes that are open but dead.

  
“I don’t know what it means.” She looks up at Richie, “But I think you do.”

  
Richie shrugs, “Yeah, whatever. You saw the burns on his arm.” He nods his head towards Seth.

  
She laughs and starts to put her paints away. “I saw more than what I painted. Things about the fire I didn’t think you’d want your brother to know.” She pushes the painting across the table towards Richie.

  
He takes it from her, stares at it for several moments before tearing it in two, lets it fall to the ground and grinds it beneath his heel. “This was a waste of money.”

  
The woman straightens her robe and shakes her head as Richie strides off. “I’m never wrong,” She says to Seth.

  
He winks and slaps another ten on the table, “Thanks.”

  
“Wait.” The woman grabs his arm as he turns to go. “Watch out for him.”

  
Seth glances over at Richie, who has paused several feet ahead. “Who, him? The  _egghead_?”

  
“I see bad things,” she nods, “Watch out for him. The demons like him.”

  
Seth barks a laugh, “No, Richie’s fine. Richie looks out for  _me_.”

  
….

“What was that all about?” Richie asks when Seth catches up. “What was she saying to you?”

  
“Forget about it. Some shit about demons,” He shakes his head. “You were right, I think she’s full of shit.” He laughs and claps his brother on the shoulder. “We watch out for each other, right?”

  
“Yeah, of course.”

  
“Then we ain’t got nothing to worry about.”


End file.
